The Shadow of Armageddon

by LeMay, Jim

Grimes also looked at Matt. His eyes went wide with recognition.

  “Matt Pringle! You’re back!”

  Matt stood a few steps behind Matheson. He moved his rifle from Grimes toward Matheson.

  “Pringle?” mused Matheson, trying to place the name.

  “Yeah,” said Grimes. “One a Johnson’s main men.” Matheson began to whirl around. Matt shot him in the face.

  He turned and fired at Grimes, but the bullet struck the wall a few inches from Grimes’ face. Grimes wheeled and ran down the hallway. Mentally damning the dim light and his poor marksmanship, Matt fired again. This time he apparently hit the trader somewhere because he yelped and stumbled at the foot of the stairs leading up to the main floor.

  Matt grabbed up one of the torches and lit the end with the firestarter. After the pitch-fueled flame exploded into life, he raced after Grimes. By the time he reached the foot of the stairs, the trader had disappeared, though blood dappled the steps. Matt heard him shrieking for help upstairs. He ran up a few steps and hurled the blazing torch as far as he could through the open doorway into what looked like a kitchen.

  Then he ran back to Chadwick’s office and heaped the remaining boughs against the wall by the door to the corridor. He gathered all the flammable materials he could find: he took papers from the filing cabinets; with his machete he hacked curtains from the windows; he found a few articles of clothing. The shattered furniture wouldn’t burn of course. Furniture had not been made of anything flammable for decades. He heaped the inflammables on the torches. Then he remembered the bundle of pitch-soaked torches he had seen in his storeroom prison, fetched it, and added it to the pile. When the firestarter touched the pitch-soaked branches, an exploding conflagration swiftly engulfed the pile of combustibles and began to lap at the wall.

  He heard voices from upstairs, among them Grimes. They weren’t racing down after him yet so the torch he had hurled upstairs must be doing its job, at least so far. Presumably his enemies had to deal with the fire it had set before they could come after him. Hopefully the fire in the basement would grow out of control before anyone made it down to extinguish it.

  Matt retrieved his rifle and went to the door, but paused, suddenly remembering the four men stationed at the back corners of the yard. He didn’t know why they had not joined them when they needed back-up but now he had to make sure they recognized him. No sense of going through all he had to risk being killed by friendly fire. At that distance and in the darkness they wouldn’t be able to tell him from Chadwick’s men. Copying Matheson’s tactic, he got down on the floor and looked out.

  Matheson’s men were too preoccupied to notice the basement door. They were under fire from both sides of the yard. Some of Chadwick’s men come around the sides of the house to attack them. The heat and crackle of the growing blaze behind Matt warned him that he had only a few minutes to get out of the basement. But he had to do it carefully. His silhouette against the backdrop of flames in the open doorway would make an excellent target.

  Though the screen behind which the guards had hidden was now a shambles, its remains and the mutilated bodies sprawled behind it provided enough cover for a crawling man. Trying not to look at the corpses, Matt kept low as he crossed the patio, even after he had reached the shadows beyond the brightly-lit basement door. He reached a hedgerow that ran along the lot line between Chadwick’s house and a darkened house next door. The occupants of that house must have fled because of the fighting. He felt sorry for the townspeople; they must be scared witless by the unexpected violence. He crawled through the hedgerow to the other side and peered back through it at the Chadwick house. He saw no flames in the first floor windows. The fire in the kitchen must have been put out. A crash of glass drew his attention back to the basement. The basement fire had just blown out the window over the patio, and flames were licking out the doorway. It was still a healthy conflagration, lapping greedily at the base of the house.

  He crept along the hedgerow toward the front of the house to see how that part of the fight fared. The gunfire had slackened to desultory exchanges between Chadwick’s house and two smaller houses across the street. The Kreutzers Matt had heard earlier – there were at least two – were now silent. Their ammunition was too precious to expend on any target but a sure one. He stopped near the end of the hedgerow and looked toward Chadwick’s house. Two bodies lay across the front porch and a few more sprawled in the street. He recognized the black patches smeared around the bodies and over the street as blood. Huge tears poked the front of the building outward from the inside as though punched by a great fist: the effects of Hartman’s grenades. The defenders had blocked the holes blasted by the grenades by what looked like heavy furniture.

  A wild shot tore through the hedge a few inches above his head. His site was not as safe as he had hoped. He could retreat to a safer position and check the status of the fight later. He crept to the back of the dark house and crossed its back yard to the next side street which he intended to cross to a quieter area. Fortunately for him, he paused at the street and looked both ways. To his right he saw a group of men approaching, obviously citizens of the town, armed with axes, clubs, knives, and less effective looking weapons such as hoes and rakes. Only two carried firearms, one a shotgun and the other a pistol. As they drew near, Matt could understand their excited whispered conversation.

  One was saying, “Manny, Kelly, an’ some of the boys got four of ’m cornered in the back yard. They sent me to round you boys up. We can finish ’m off an’ move on to the house.”

  “Who you think’s attackin’ Chadwick’s house?”

  “I don’t know. I s’pose some other gang he’s feudin’ with but I don’t give a shit. I want ’m all out a here.”

  “Yeah,” agreed another. “I’m sick a all these scum whoever they are.”

  And another: “If we hang some of ’m out on the highway the next bunch’ll look somewheres else for trouble.”

  Other mumbling faded as the group moved down the street. So it was the townspeople, not Chadwick’s men, who had Matheson’s four men trapped in the back yard. Matt counted thirteen men in the group. He didn’t hold out much hope for the four when these guys finished with them. So much for scared witless inhabitants! At the same time, the mood of the townspeople made his own situation even more precarious. Not only must he avoid Chadwick’s men, and any of Matheson’s that failed to recognize him in the dark, he now had to watch out for angry townspeople. For them, any stranger carrying a gun would be a target.

  He suddenly decided that he would let this battle finish without him as a witness.

  After another cautious look up and down the street, Matt raced across it and slipped between houses and down back yards, keeping close to the shadows, to the next street. He saw more angry citizens stalking down its center, a larger group than the first, similarly armed. These included a few women. None of them spoke, but their body language declared anger and determination.

  He waited for them to pass. Matt admired these people’s courage while simultaneously recognizing its futility. They had lived as have-nots of a previous world ruled by the technics. Now, as peasants in a new era, their rulers were thugs of a less subtle nature. Though they would most likely overwhelm the four men trapped in Chadwick’s back yard, courage went only so far. What chance would they have against impact rifles and grenades with their rakes and hoes?

  For that matter Matheson’s men might fare little better; the houses from which they fired across the street looked to be in worse shape than Chadwick’s, especially if the fire in the latter were to be extinguished. Chadwick might still win this struggle. And if he did, he would be more determined to run down the Mitchell gang than ever. Thanks to Geraldo Grimes he knew the gang still lived, and somewhere nearby.

  No, he could not leave this fight. He had to see it through to the end, just as he had sworn he would on the way back to Stanley Market from Columbia. He couldn’t see a way of influencing it just now. Of course he had done so
by killing Matheson, but he had done that for his own salvation. But depriving Matheson’s gang of its leader might ultimately have the opposite, undesirable effect of strengthening Chadwick, contributing to his victory, and making the Mitchell gang’s position more desperate. Resignedly, he retraced his course.

  He finally crept along the hedgerow between Chadwick’s house and the dark one, on the side nearest the latter. As he came opposite the Chadwick house, he saw flames again leaping in the kitchen window. He could see silhouettes of people beating at them with blankets. The basement fire must have broken through the floor! He edged a little farther along the hedgerow.

  A shot fired over his head. He’d been discovered! He rolled over on his back and pointed his rifle, rather wildly, in the direction of the shot. It had come from a window in the dark house almost directly over his head. A moment later another shot followed the first. But it wasn’t aimed at him. This time he heard a scream from the Chadwick house, from one of the shadows fighting the fire. Matheson’s men must have occupied the deserted house, were firing from it and had hit one of the firefighters. Another shot followed. And another. From the same place and from the same weapon. There was only one sniper there.

  Then from the front room of the Chadwick house, which the fire had not yet reached, came the quiet sinister thut! of a Kreutzer. The Kreutzer’s aim was true. From the dark house Matt could hear a body slammed across the room into a far wall. No further sound came from the house. Matt turned his attention back to the fire in the Chadwick house. It seemed to be gaining. It had chased away the firefighters and roared beyond control in the kitchen.

  Again a shot sounded over his head. From the same window in the dark house. From the same weapon by the sound. There may have been only one weapon, but there was more than one sniper. Another shot. Without hitting anyone in the Chadwick house. These two snipers, this one and the slain one before him, were no more adept with firearms than he.

  Thut! Thut! Thut! Thut! The Kreutzer was back. The powerful weapon fired through the snipers’ window and pulverized the wall on both sides of it, trying to hit whoever might be hiding behind those walls. Some splinters sprayed the hedge above Matt’s head. He swung his attention back to the Chadwick house. The Kreutzer had been fired from the window in the front room of the house as yet untouched by fire. He saw the rifleman in the window, a man with an outthrust lower jaw that gave him a pugnacious look.

  Chadwick. He was preparing to fire again, to finish ridding the room of any other snipers.

  Matt moved over onto his stomach. He noticed with satisfaction that Chadwick’s head was completely swaddled in bandages above his eyebrows. The effects of Matt slamming him headfirst into the basement wall.

  Matt aimed at a spot below the bandage, right between Chadwick’s eyes. He took his time, made sure his elbows were securely anchored in the soil beneath the hedgerow, and that the rifle felt steady in his hands and against his shoulder. He only had time for one shot. If he missed, Chadwick would not. He felt complete calm.

  He fired. Chadwick disappeared back into the room. He had hit him! He noted that the clip in his rifle was empty. He rejected it, reached for another. A shadow filled the window. He looked up. It was Chadwick, a gash across his cheek, the Kreutzer aimed directly at him. Chadwick could not see him through the hedge but knew exactly where the shot had come from.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Another shot from the window of the dark house. A little round hole appeared in the bandage covering Chadwick’s forehead. Matt saw the man’s wide open mouth and eyes for an instant before he fell backwards. Matt collapsed into the soft soil beside his rifle, shaking. He breathed heavily; his heart pounded. He heard shouting from the room where Chadwick had been. Another figure appeared in the window with the Kreutzer and blasted the dark house. He didn’t turn to fire at Matt so apparently no one but Chadwick had been aware of him beneath the hedgerow. He still had to get away. It was only a matter of time before he was discovered. He turned and crawled down the hedgerow toward the back of the house, changing the rifle clip as he crawled. This was his last one. So much ammunition was being expended tonight that at least this part of the world would be a lot safer from guns from now on. The fury of battle had made the gangs forget their usual parsimonious use of ammunition.

  A great whumpf! followed by yells drew his attention back to the Chadwick house. Flames shot out through the window from which Chadwick and his replacement had fired the Kreutzer. The inferno had reached that room. Matt raised to a crouch and started to run across the back yard of the dark house.

  And stopped. There had been only one rifle in that dark house but more than one person. They had been as inept with firearms as he, meaning they had probably been townspeople. There may be others alive but injured. The fire was spreading through Chadwick’s house. It may soon jump to theirs. He owed any who survived in that room. One of them had saved his life. He turned and, still in a crouch, crossed to the back door of the dark house, raced up the three steps to the back door and through it.

  Once inside, he moved with quiet caution; to the townspeople he would appear as threatening as any of the rival gang members. He crossed a kitchen illuminated by the conflagration next door to the door that must lead to the snipers’ room. He edged the door open, didn’t hear a sound. Cautiously, he peered around the corner. Three shattered bodies lay against the wall farthest from the window. Fire from the Kreutzer and flying bodies had splintered the room’s few pieces of furniture. Blood splattered the room. Someone sat holding one of the bodies in her arms. The flickering firelight from the Chadwick house did not penetrate far enough for him to see her expression. He didn’t move until he saw the snipers’ rifle laying safely across the room from her, by the window. Then he relaxed but kept his own rifle in abeyance – she might have a hidden weapon – and edged into the room.

  His caution proved unnecessary. When he went over to crouch before her, he saw that she was completely lost in shock, eyes wide, mouth open, chin trembling. She was very young, under twenty; the boy whose upper body she cradled was about the same age. His gore spattered her face and arms. His face was colorless, his open eyes rolled up into his head. Matt worked at not looking at the mess the Kreutzer had made of his lower body.

  “We have to leave, sweetheart,” he said as gently as possible.

  The sound of his voice made her start in terror. Her eyes locked on his; a groan escaped her lips; she held the boy’s body closer.

  He lay the rifle down and gently pried her hands away from the boy’s corpse and held them in his. He tried to smile but knew he looked terrible, from more recent trauma than yesterday’s beating; a new pain in his cheek that felt like a cut was encrusted by something sticky that had to be blood. He spoke gently. “The house next door is on fire. It might spread over here.”

  He stroked her hair, long and clotted with the young man’s blood. That seemed to bring her back out of her shock to some degree. She shrank back from him.

  “No, no, don’t worry.” Still speaking gently. “I’m a friend. We have to leave.”

  She looked down, took one hand back from Matt, and cupped the cold cheek that lay against her breast. “Not without Phil. My Phil.”

  Loud crackling sounds from the Chadwick house and the heat wafting through the open window and rents in the wall torn open by the Kreutzer spurred him to action. Chadwick’s men would have to vacate that house soon. They might invade this one (as might Matheson’s men for that matter). Keeping low, out of sight of the Chadwick house, he retrieved the snipers’ rifle from below the window and a belt next to it with pouches he hoped contained ammunition for it. Then, as gently as possible, he eased the girl from beneath Phil’s ruined body and got her to her feet. Encumbered by his own weapon, the townspeople’s rifle and ammo belt, and the stumbling girl, the trip to the back door seemed endless. At least the girl did not resist him, though she looked back at Phil and whimpered.

  Finally outside, he felt a cool breeze alterna
ted with searing blasts of heat from the fire next door. He realized that the sounds of violence in Chadwick’s back yard had been absent for some time. He hoped the townspeople had prevailed in that small eddy of their conflict. Still supporting the girl, he ran with her to the far side of the house. When they stopped, she leaned back against the house, buried her face in her hands, and broke into tears, which soon turned into wracking sobs. He held her without speaking, hoping the tears meant an end to the shock. Leaning against the house reminded him of how tired he was.

  Then Matt realized that the girl no longer sobbed. They were sitting down with their backs against the house though he didn’t remember sitting down. He had fallen asleep! He shook himself awake.

  The girl was looking at him. “I thought Phil and I could get away after they shot the others. But Phil had to fire once more. Then they got him too.”

  He took her by the shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. “But Phil’s shot was successful. It killed Chadwick himself.”

  “He, he ... What?” Her look of despair softened.

  “Yes, Phil’s a hero. He shot Chadwick. And just incidentally he saved my life. I was outside in the yard with Chadwick aiming right at me. If Phil had fired two seconds later, I would have been dead.”

  Her face took on a look of awe. “Phil a hero? Maybe we can win after all.”

  “Maybe so.”

  The gunfire had raised to a new pitch. It sounded as though it came from the street in front of the Chadwick house. He heard the Kreutzers.

  Time to move. Holding up the snipers’ weapon he asked, “Do you know how to use this?”

  “I only tried firing it tonight, but I couldn’t hit anything.”

  “Sounds like you and I are at about the same level of competence. Grab it and the ammo belt and come on. Let’s see what’s going on.”

  He crawled to the front corner of the house and peered around it. She joined him a moment later. A ragged line of men, the remnants of Chadwick’s gang, moved across the street firing at the two houses on the opposite side from which Matheson’s men had fired. The fire in Chadwick’s house had driven them into the street. Both Matheson houses were on fire. There was little return fire from them. Two of Chadwick’s men, one armed with a Kreutzer, ran down the street toward where they hid. Matt and the girl watched from the shadows. The two passed them, reached the next intersection, and crossed the street. They apparently intended to attack the Matheson houses from the side or rear.